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The stadium lights burned down on Paris X Gen, painting the pitch in a harsh white glow that made every blade of grass look sharp enough to cut. Kaiser stood at the center line, chest heaving, sweat slicking his hair back from his forehead. The roar of the crowd was a distant, static hum in his ears. All he could see was Ness, standing a few meters away, tying his boots with deliberate slowness, refusing to meet his gaze.
Kaiser had always been good at reading people. It was part of what made him a king on the field—knowing where his teammates would run before they did, seeing the cracks in a defender’s confidence before they even realized they were breaking. But Ness was an enigma. For all the hours they’d spent together—training, strategizing, sharing cramped hotel rooms on away games—Kaiser still couldn’t decipher the storm behind those green eyes.
He wanted to. God, he wanted to.
The whistle blew, and the match began. Kaiser moved like a force of nature, carving through defenders, orchestrating plays with the effortless arrogance that had made him a star. But every time he looked for Ness, every time he passed the ball and expected that familiar, reliable support, he felt something slipping.
Ness was playing differently. There was a sharpness to his movements, a refusal to fall into step behind Kaiser’s lead. Instead of shadowing him, Ness started creating his own angles, weaving through the opposition with a creativity that left even Kaiser breathless. For the first time, Ness wasn’t following. He was leading.
Kaiser’s heart hammered in his chest, panic threading through his veins. He tried to reach out—calling for the ball, shouting encouragements, desperate for Ness to look at him, to acknowledge him. But Ness’s eyes never met his. Every pass from Ness went somewhere else. Every play Ness made was for himself, not for Kaiser.
The crowd noticed. The commentators noticed. Paris X Gen surged forward, powered by Ness’s newfound brilliance. The team won, but the victory felt hollow to Kaiser. He watched Ness get mobbed by teammates, lifted onto their shoulders, the hero of the night. Kaiser stood alone, applause washing over him like cold rain.
In the locker room, Kaiser found Ness sitting on the bench, untying his boots. The room was empty except for them, the silence heavy and suffocating.
“Ness,” Kaiser said, voice raw. “Can we talk?”
Ness didn’t look up. “What’s there to talk about?”
Kaiser hesitated. He’d rehearsed this a hundred times in his head, but now the words tangled in his throat. “I— I need you to know that I care about you. More than anyone else. More than anything.”
Ness snorted, pulling off his socks. “You care about winning. You care about being the best. I was just convenient.”
“That’s not true,” Kaiser said, stepping closer. “I— Ness, I love you.”
The silence that followed was absolute. Ness finally looked up, his eyes cold and sharp as glass.
“No, you don’t,” Ness said, voice flat. “You love having someone who makes you look good. Someone who’ll always be there to clean up your messes. But you don’t love me. You don’t even see me.”
Kaiser’s breath hitched. “Ness, please—”
Ness stood, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. “I absolutely despise you, Kaiser. Even if you did love me, it wouldn’t matter. I’m done.”
He walked out, leaving Kaiser standing in the empty locker room, the echo of his footsteps ringing in Kaiser’s ears.
That night, Kaiser lay awake in his apartment, staring at the ceiling. He replayed the match over and over, searching for the moment it all slipped away. He thought about quitting, about leaving soccer behind. What was the point, if Ness wasn’t there?
The decision came quietly, in the early hours of the morning. Kaiser sent a message to the coach, resigning from the team. He packed his things, left his apartment, and disappeared from the world of soccer.
.
Years passed. Kaiser drifted from job to job, never settling, never finding anything that filled the void Ness had left behind. He watched from afar as Ness’s star rose higher and higher—MVP awards, championship trophies, magazine covers. Ness played with a joy and freedom that Kaiser had never seen before, and it hurt, every time.
.
One rainy evening, Kaiser found himself wandering the streets, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head bowed against the wind. He turned a corner and stopped dead.
Ness was there, laughing with someone—Kurona, Kaiser realized with a jolt. They looked happy, arms linked, faces bright with the glow of success and love.
Kaiser stood frozen, watching as Ness leaned in to kiss Kurona, their laughter echoing down the street. Ness glanced up, eyes meeting Kaiser’s for a split second. There was no recognition, no flicker of old affection. Just indifference.
Kaiser turned away, heart shattering all over again. He walked into the night, the rain washing away the tears on his cheeks.
‘If you loved me, you’d let me go.’ It seemed to be something Ness would say. It was so Ness.
Kaiser had let Ness go; he’d never learned how to let go of the love.